And he winked at me. That I know for sure.
It was the night before the coronation when Nik threw all his caution to the wind. We still hadn’t talked things over, but we had been in the same room a few times, cautiously exploring the boundaries of the rift between us. We’d had polite conversations and civil exchanges, but always with our feelings hanging in the air between us.
I began to realize that my anger at him was fading, but in its wake there was still doubt, hurt, and a few unanswered questions. Had anything happened between him and Selene? Would she still be a part of his life while I was far away in the States? Could I handle that?
And there were some bigger issues, too.
But one knock on my door, well into the dead of night, and I found him standing there, wired and awake. I was groggy and didn’t even register, at first, what was happening.
“I need to talk to you,” he whispered.
“Why?” I groaned, already missing the warmth of the world’s greatest bed.
“Because I can’t sleep and I was pacing and pacing around my room and the only person I could think of to talk to about it was you,” he said miserably.
He wasn’t happy about admitting this. It was certainly wounding his pride a great deal to be standing in front of me and begging for an ear to listen. I sighed, I yawned, I groaned, but I did follow him.
He quietly walked down the hall, down some stairs, and took several turns. I had no clue where we were going, but then again, I never knew where anything was in this palace and the dark wasn’t helping. He took one last turn and suddenly we were in front of a highly ornate door, one which I did recognize. When he pushed it open, I knew what was waiting inside.
I always considered throne rooms to be archaic things. It sounded so silly and like something you’d see in a Shakespeare movie or Lord of the Rings. But plenty of royal families still used them. Nik said they were symbolic of everything the king (or queen) used to be: the ultimate, God-ordained power on Earth. Most royal families still believed in divine right, but very few other people still did.
When we entered the room it felt stuffy and heavy, especially considering how wide open it was. There was a chill in the air here and absolutely nothing about the cold marble floors or the picturesque throne at the end of the room inspired any sort of comfort. Nik stood in the middle of it and for the first time since we were children, he looked small. The room dwarfed him in such a way that, in the dark, I might even have mistaken him for the young boy I had met all those years ago.
“Okay…” I said hesitantly.
He didn’t say anything. He just stood in the middle of the room and stared around at the paintings on the wall before he finally pivoted his attention to the throne. Though it looked a little duller in the dark, I knew already that it was a vibrant red with gold leaf across the arms and back. It was probably worth more than every house on my block. It was big, and Alexandru often said it was incredibly uncomfortable.
“Not that this isn’t fun but…” I said.
“I just…I wanted…I wanted to be in here on my own terms,” he said, still not facing me. “Tomorrow, it feels like I’m going to be dragged in here in chains and forced to look a certain way and act a certain way. My pajamas aren’t exactly the best look but…I wanted to be in here just for me. Just by myself.”
Personally, I thought his baggy shorts and faded t-shirt looked just fine, but anyway. “So why am I here?”
That, he did not answer. Instead he turned to look at me. It was hard to completely make out his face in the dark but the silhouette of his shoulders revealed a hefty sigh, and he walked over to me with quiet footsteps. He stopped right in front of me and I didn’t have it in me to back away. He took another couple of steps until he was well within the area I would call personal space. But still I couldn’t move.
For the first time in weeks, I felt like I couldn’t breathe for an entirely different reason than anger and annoyance. All the things he had done, all the images of his poor coping mechanisms, they were far from my mind, just then. It didn’t mean I forgave him and it didn’t mean I completely forgot about all the crap he pulled. But the man standing in front of me had nothing in common with the man in those tabloids except that they shared a face. And this one was wearing a much more worn, much more scared version of it. It was hard to stay angry at him.
Also I was a hormonal teenager and a hot guy was staring into the depths of my soul at 1 a.m. I really can’t be blamed for any of this.
“The only person I wanted to talk to about any of this was you,” he whispered. “I think that might have been my problem all along.”
“All along?” I gulped.
“You’re the only person I could think of whenever someone hugged me or said ‘I’m here if you need talk’ or anything like that,” he said. “And that freaked me out. On top of all this…weight, I didn’t know what to do. And by the time I realized what I should be doing, I’d already made a huge ass of myself.”
“That you did,” I chuckled nervously.
“I don’t want to do that ever again,” he said. “I hurt you, I embarrassed my sister, I hurt my mother, and I practically desecrated my father’s memory. And I can’t apologize to all of them right now so, if you’ll let me, this is me apologizing to you. Properly. No excuses or defenses. You’ve got a king on his knees.”
At that he dropped down and bowed his head. I swallowed hard, and gently placed my hands on his head. He tilted his chin up to look at me. His eyes were glassy with exhaustion and emotion and it was impossible not to let him do what I knew those deep browns were asking permission for.
I let him kiss me.
He stood up and our mouths met halfway during his rise and by the time he was up, his large hands were gently cupping one side of my cheek and resting in my hair. It was warm and incredibly lovely and I savored every second of it.
But all good things come to an end, and this time it was the sound of one of the night maids in the hallway that brought me back to where I was, what I was doing, and who exactly was standing in front of me.
I gently placed my hands on his chest and pushed. Our mouths detached with only the slightest of pops and he looked at me with furrowed brow and confused eyes. I told myself I wouldn’t lose it as I shook my head and took in a shuddering breath.
“We can’t do this.”
He looked confused, and hurt. “What do you mean?”
“This isn’t just some teen drama or romance, Nik. Tomorrow you’re going to become a world leader, and I’m just a girl in high school, barely passing my SATs.”
He made a sound in his throat, but it was pain, and not disagreement.
“Good luck tomorrow, Nik,” I said, and gave his shoulder one last pat before moving away completely.
We were different people, from different worlds, and the middle of the night can create magic sometimes, but that doesn’t mean it’s going to work in the daylight.
Chapter 7
I didn’t really want to wake up, the morning of the coronation. The second I opened my eyes, I remembered every detail of what had happened, and I groaned. It seemed like it was ten minutes ago, and also a lifetime.
I didn’t call Jess or Jennifer because I wasn’t ready to talk about what happened. I didn’t know how to describe my feelings, so I decided to wait until I mulled it over once or twice, or maybe 500 times. I went through my morning ritual of teeth brushing and showering. With my hair tightly wrapped in a towel, and wearing a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, I took out the dress we’d brought for the coronation ceremony.
It wasn’t going to be like in movies where he knelt down and got a crown and then everyone bowed, but it was a highly formal and political affair. He’d walk in wearing all sorts of fancy, kingly attire. He’d be handed some symbolic stuff to hold while he sat on his throne and they put a heavy crown on his head. And then we’d all just sit there and watch and clap when it was done before trooping into the reception hall to eat as much as we co
uld and, probably, some would drink even more than that.
My mom said it would be more like a wedding than some kind of solemn, royal affair. To me it felt more like a funeral.
I got dressed in day clothes to go down and meet everyone for breakfast, since I wasn’t in a hurry to put that getup on, and anyway, I’d only wrinkle it.
Nik wasn’t there.
“He was up hours ago,” Sonia said. “I heard him pacing up and down the hallway. He has very little consideration for when others are trying to sleep.”
“Did he eat?” her mother asked.
“I don’t know.”
I pretended not to be interested as I picked through my fruit parfait and took small sips of the incredibly bitter coffee. No more was said about Nik at breakfast but I could tell everyone was thinking about him.
“Come on,” my mother said, when she’d finished her food, and watched me for several minutes toying with mine. “It’s time to get ready.”
The dress went on first. It slipped onto me as nicely as it did the first time I wore it, last year at the prom. It was a navy blue evening gown with a slight twinkle from glittering, sheer fabric set over the satin of the actual dress. The queen had also lent me a pair of gloves from her own closet. They matched the color perfectly.
Next, came the stylists. First, hair. My hair was curled, tightly, and then pulled into an updo complete with ringlets made out of what bangs I had, gently curtaining the side of my face. Makeup was last. It was just a dusting of foundation and some mascara and liner around my eyes to (according to the heavily accented stylist) “enhance my features, not hide them.”
I had to admit, when I looked in the mirror, the girl looking back at me was gorgeous. Though I definitely could not have my own team of stylists every day before school, I thought about what he said. Maybe I could do a little more with makeup.
“How are you feeling?” my mother asked, coming up behind my chair and meeting my eyes in the mirror.
“Why? It’s not my coronation,” I said.
“You know why.”
I didn’t want to tell her about the rendezvous last night. So I shrugged and sighed and she seemed to understand that, at the very least, nothing had really been solved. In truth something had happened but I hadn’t decided yet whether it was a step forward or a massive step back. And it was too late to figure it out. Nik was going to be king in an hour. We were out of time.
I stood up and walked with my mother out the door to where my father was waiting in an expensive-looking tux.
“Beautiful,” he said, smiling warmly at both of us and pulling us in for a hug, careful not to smudge anyone’s make up or clothes. “Shall we?”
He offered up both his arms and my mother and I each took an elbow as we walked down the hall to the throne room.
My mother was right, I was incredibly nervous and I was nothing more than a spectator in all this. I couldn’t even imagine how Nik was feeling right now. Even if it didn’t quite work out, I was glad I had let him kiss me the night before. Maybe it offered him some comfort or something to think about while the world watched him.
We walked down the hall to those ornate, large doors and stepped inside where, no matter what, Nik would walk out and never be the same again.
* * *
The coronation was nice, and formal. Nik wore that same full dress uniform his father always had, and he sat incredibly still as they placed a heavy-looking crown of gold and pearls and red velvet on his head. The way his neck was ramrod straight, and the tension in his shoulders made it look incredibly uncomfortable. In either hand he held a ceremonial orb and scepter that looked kind of weird, but my father said it was traditional of all European royalty. He recited some wedding-style vows, promising to protect the country until the day he died.
That’s the part that kind of got me. I thought about him, a kid just at the end of his teenage years, sitting up there promising to protect an entire population of people, both older and younger than him, every day for the rest of his life. It wasn’t like when I got sworn in as the historian for Student Council. This job would own Nik forever.
And that was something that weighed heavily on my mind during the party.
I watched him ghost around the room, say hi to people with a tight smile, and give quick, jerky head nods when asked questions. He endured people giving small bows or curtsies when he approached them, and he looked, honestly, utterly miserable wherever he stood.
“Not the best look for him,” said a familiar voice from behind me.
Sonia walked up and I tried not to look too embarrassed at having been caught staring after Nik. Things were different now; everyone was watching him.
“Hmm?”
“I know psychologists teach all about birth order, but he never looked good wearing responsibility,” she said drily. “Now he has to do it every day.”
“I feel bad for him,” I admitted quietly.
“So do I,” Sonia sighed. “But there’s nothing to be done about it.”
“It doesn’t seem fair,” I said. “You two were born into it – you didn’t ask for it.”
“I look at this way: I got a lavish, comfortable life with a family that loves me, in a beautiful country that I adore. If the price to pay back the universe’s kindness for my chance birth is service, I’ll take it. I would, even if I was in Nik’s position,” she said.
I felt like that might have been easier said than done, especially when she wasn’t the one who was ruling queen and would likely never be, once Nik got married. But the sentiment was sincere. She looked over the crowd with longing, tired eyes. It really was a double-edged sword: power and responsibility, wealth and obligation. I don’t think I’d ever complain about having to wear heels to a White House dinner ever again.
“Have you talked to him at all?” Sonia asked.
“No.” I shrugged.
“You should. It looks like he could use a friend.”
“I somehow doubt I really qualify as that anymore,” I said. “I think I might bring him more stress than comfort.”
“Why? Did something happen?”
“It’s complicated.”
“When aren’t the two of you complicated?”
Sonia always did have a very observant mind. She smiled with sympathy and patted me on the shoulder. Then she walked away to go talk to somebody important and I was left to hover in the middle of the room again.
This was all so incredibly not how Disney made it look when a random, pauper girl found herself in a relationship with a prince. They never talked about the obligation part or the fact that being king meant working 16-hour days, 7 days a week, until you died. All facets of Nik’s life would be angled to serve his people—even his relationships. He’d have to marry someone who could keep up with everything he had to do, who could help and perform actual functions for the country instead of just stumbling her way through an official party.
Not that marriage was a thing I was ready to think about. At 18, I wasn’t even sure if what I felt for Nik was more than an incredibly intense and long-lasting crush. But the image of him at the altar with some girl I didn’t know—or worse, Selene—made my stomach churn in a weird way. Every time he kissed a girl’s hand at the party I felt something boil in my stomach.
It was all insane, because I had no right to be jealous. It was also rude and unbecoming and incredibly inappropriate to glare daggers at some magnate’s daughter because the king said hello to her.
I took a glass of wine from a passing tray, and took a long sip. Before long, I was getting very near to the bottom of the glass. I should find another one soon, just to keep the general buzzing, numb feeling going so I could stop getting so bent out of shape whenever a girl looked at Nik. The wine would make me calmer, a little nicer.
I didn’t really expect it to make me that much more obsessive. But I thought about what Mr. Wheeler said in AP psych class about alcohol being a depressant and people somehow thinking it would boost their mood. It
really wasn’t doing me any favors.
“Need a refill?”
I turned to see a man I didn’t recognize standing there with a smile. He was very aware of how charming it was. His accent was something I couldn’t place but his chiseled jaw and fluffy, wavy black hair said Italian—all the way.
“Julius,” he said, giving me a small nod.
“I didn’t know people in Italy were actually named that,” I blurted out without thinking and he laughed.
“Unfortunately I was named for a great uncle and not our famous dictator but there are worse names to have,” he said.
Okay, he was good. My mind knew very clearly that he was hitting on me, and had probably hit on several foreign girls the same way. But one glass of wine in, and I was very interested in a distraction.
“Well my name came from a baby book,” I said. “Isabel.”
“Isabel,” he repeated back to me and his accent made it sound like the most beautiful word in the English language.
“That’s me,” I giggled and then wanted to swallow my own tongue.
“So, not to harp on my original question but…do you need another?” he asked, and offered me one of the glasses of wine he had clasped in his hands.
I smiled, nodded, mumbled a thank you, and took it, trading my empty which he placed on a tray passing by with a waiter. I was never a good flirt. Once when we were both in middle school, Jess tried to teach me how to flirt by demonstrating her particular 13-year-old seduction technique with a pillar on the back patio of the Starbucks. I was just never good at doing anything other than talking and talking someone’s ear off and hoping I said something funny or smart, or both.
“You’re American,” he said.
“That obvious?”
“How do you like our Mediterranean wine? Better than the bottles from California?” he asked.
“This is only my second time having wine in my whole life,” I said, turning red. “But so far, so good.”
“I see,” he said, and smiled.
He asked me about school, and about Washington, as we took turns taking sips from our wine. I was aware of Nik somewhere in my peripheral vision, wandering around. Once or twice I felt the hairs on my neck stand on end, telling me that someone’s eyes were on me, but I ignored it and just hoped I said something intelligent to Julius while I still had his attention.
Letters from a Prince: The Royals of Heledia (Book 1) Page 11
